


Happy Campers

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Las Vegas, Outdoor Sex, Smut, this is the schmooiest sex i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	Happy Campers

Your first trip to Vegas with Sam and Dean didn’t go exactly as you’d imagined it.

You’d heard stories of their past trips, the time they hit the tables at the MGM in Prada suits bought on dodgy credit cards and won enough to buy gas for the next six months; the time Dean dragged Sam to his first strip show and one of the strippers hit on Sam (Dean enjoyed telling that one as much as Sam did, you thought); the cookie-cutter buffet restaurants where they ate twice a day and the endless pool of rich old suckers waiting to be parted from their money. Once Dean had taken a girl for a gondola ride at the Venetian.

‘Spent our gas money on it,’ Sam had said gleefully. ‘Dad was _pissed_.’

‘Did you try kissing her in the gondola?’ you’d said, and Dean had glared at you in the rearview mirror and then broken out laughing and said ‘Fuck yeah I did, guys gimme a break, I was sixteen.’

This trip, your first one, had started out just fine. Dean had got a comped suite at the Bellagio by posing on the phone as a rep from Hoteliers Intl., four nights and complementary room service. It was part holiday and part low-level case, nothing too stressful, some background research Bobby wanted on an old haunting at the Luxor. The plan was to take a day or so to decompress, hit the tables, and then do a bit of digging; but on the first evening there Dean had come streaking across the floor of the MGM to shove the car keys into Sam’s hand and tell you that you’d have to get a different room.

‘ _Dean_ ,’ said Sam, and Dean said ‘she’s head steward at the Lux, Sam, c’mon, I can get the master keycard. But I had to tell her I was, uh, a Wall Street banker here on business. And she’s, er, coming by the suite in an hour.’

Sam’s dimples flashed and he rolled his eyes, more exasperated than angry.

‘She hot?’

‘Well, yeah.’ Dean’s grin lit up his face. ‘C’mon, Sam, business and pleasure, Winchester special.’

‘Fine,’ Sam said, ‘you fucker. Oh hey gimme the credit card then.’

Dean stared at him blankly.

‘Where’s yours?’

Sam let his breath out through his teeth.

‘Mine got flagged in Tahoe, remember? I’m out till Salt Lake next week. The room’s comped, what’ll you need it for anyway?’

Dean jerked his head a little to the side and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Gotta flash some plastic, Sam. Wall St bankers don’t exactly order room service.’

You stepped forward and put a hand on Sam’s arm.

‘It’s fine,’ you said, ‘got any cash?’ Dean shuffled in his pockets and pulled out a few bills, gave them to you. ‘K,’ you said, ‘we’ll figure something,’ and Dean grinned his thanks and waited to catch Sam’s eye and exchange a nod so brief it was hardly visible before he took off back across the casino floor.

Sam turned to you and sighed, deep but not angrily.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘whatta we think? How much money we got?’ You counted again.

‘60 and change. But we need gas. And food I guess.’ You hesitated. ‘We could sleep in the car?’

Sam made a face, his hand finding yours. Sleeping in the car was a lot less comfortable for him than for you.

‘Maybe yeah. I’ve got an idea though, let’s go for a little drive.’

——

The campground was twenty minutes out of the city, set in a fold between two low, sand-brown hills, and by the time you pulled up to the tiny entrance booth Sam was smiling broadly. You glanced across at him.

‘We’re gonna tent?’

He grinned back. ‘Just wait. It’s awesome.’ He paid for a night’s pitch ($20, which after gas and supper left you with exactly $7.49) and drove across a bumpy unpaved track to the back corner of the camping site. There were only three other vehicles in sight, all of them clustered near the front of the lot where a tiny tuck shop sold candy bars and bottled water; back here, between two low folds of the hill, you might as well have been in the middle of nowhere. The grass was brown and in uneven patches across rough hillocks, but you found a flattish spot for the tent and once you had it pitched spread all three sleeping bags across its floor to even out the bumps.

It was an A-frame two-man, a bit oversized so that Sam could fit full-length inside it, but low enough that his head brushed the roof if he sat up anywhere but the very middle. There were mosquitos outside, so you sat in the Impala till the light died, eating tuna and crackers, sort of reading, mostly talking about nothing in particular. Sam told you about the other time he’d been at this campground, when he’d been 16 and Dean 20 and they’d wandered down the Strip with John. Dean had won $500 on the slots and they’d gone to Treasure Island for drinks and the fireworks show, and the lingerie-clad lady pirates had given Sam such a boner that he’d had to jerk himself off in the nearest bathroom.

By the time he finished the story you were lying back against the passenger door with your feet in his lap, helpless with laughter, and he grinned back and let his upper body slide down over you, shifting his ass sideways on the seat, head fitting into the crook of your arm. For a few minutes you just lay there, feeling the weight of his head on your chest, your lips in his hair, ruffling it back from his forehead with your fingers. It was dark outside now but still warm and humid, and when you stripped down to your underwear and stumbled from the Impala to the flap of the tent you caught of a glimpse of the first stars hanging high up in the dome of the sky.

It felt like some wanton antediluvian paradise there in the dark, cool grass and sand under bare feet, nothing to see but the stars bright-spangled overhead, the shadows of the hills and hollows and Sam beside you, wearing polka dot boxers but still somehow part of the surreal landscape of the dark, ropes of muscle cast in moonlit relief across his back.

‘Sam,’ you said, catching his hand, but he said ‘mosquitos!’ and nudged you forward with his knee towards the flap of the tent. He put his gun in a corner and crawled back outside to pour a salt line around the tent. Bedtime rituals, Winchester style.

You didn’t have any booze and it wasn’t the Vegas you’d planned, no sleazy slot machines, no Bellagio fountain shows. It _was_ , though, the longest you and Sam had been completely alone since you’d been together, no watching the clock tonight or listening for Dean’s keycard at the door. When you’d zipped up the tent flap you peeled off you panties and crawled on top of Sam, no blankets or sheets, too hot for that, just you and Sam and the soft rustle of the breeze outside the tent. You lay on top of him, toes playing against his knees, his arms up gentle around you, and at first you just kissed him sweet and soft, nuzzled along his neck and up behind his ears, kissed his eyelids and the corners of his mouth. He sighed and hummed and shifted beneath you, and when your hips began to move against him more insistently he flipped you over onto your back. For a long time he just kissed you, used his mouth and tongue to open your lips and laced his fingers light with yours, not holding them down but _following_ wherever you moved your hands, rolling and wriggling to stay with you, and after a fit of breathy giggles you ended up lying side by side, facing each other, Sam holding your face in his hands and kissing you slow and deep till you were actually breathless, gasping against his face.

‘Sam,’ you said, ‘I want you, I want you,’ and he tugged his boxers down enough to pull out his cock and shifted back on top of you, elbow locked with a palm braced beside your head. 

‘Lube?’ he asked, ‘I think there’s some-’ but you shook your head, breathing hard, and he pushed inside you thick and stretching, slippery with your slick. You dragged in a long ragged breath and he settled down over you on his elbows, so close the hair on his chest brushed across your breasts. Then he just held there, not thrusting, hardly moving, just letting the weight of his body shift back and forth, rocking gentle and deep inside you. Your whole body felt pressed full with him, not just the close wet slide of skin on skin and quivering nerves but the weight that crept into your limbs and bore them down thick with moaning pleasure.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the sleeping bags, put your fingers up on Sam’s face and ran them over his brows and jaw and nose, dragged them soft over his lips, and all the while you panted and moaned beneath him, tiny cries soft and desperate, just for his ears, and he rocked into you with a languid relentlessness, the root of his cock dragging slow up against your clit and the silky, torque-twisting slide of his length inside you. 

Your panting pitched a little higher, begging now, swollen and tingling with arousal not just between your legs but out to your fingertips and over your whole skin, flushed and trembling against him. Sam started to thrust in earnest, hard enough to rock your hips hard into the ground. Your ankles were up under his ass and his tongue was in your mouth, rougher now and possessive. You felt a warm ache building, coiling around the thrusts of his cock, and you tightened your calves around his thighs and _groaned_ , loud and guttural and long and - _jesus_ \- he came first, seizing you suddenly in a death grip and pumping into you hard twice, three, four times.

‘Sorry!’ he gasped, raising his head, dazed and glassy-eyed. ‘I - god - you’re - you’re just too hot, Y/N.’

‘Clearly,’ you said, laughing against his face, and he put his hand down between you and thumbed your clit, rubbed soft across it and licked and sucked your neck and you came around his softening dick, arched back against the floor and felt his words breathed rough against your neck (’yeah, yeah…that’s right Y/N, I gotcha…that’s right, baby’). 

You’d left the towel in the car so you cleaned up with his boxers and lay back together naked, sweat-damp and flushed. Sam had his hand tangled in your hair.

‘Is it weird being here again?’ you said, after awhile, thinking of everything that Sam had seen since he was here last.

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘it is. But, y’know. I’m glad. To be here with you.’

——

The display showed 5.45 am when the phone rang. Sam sat up, instantly alert, hand on his gun. You groped for the phone and hit the green button.

‘Dean?’

‘Heeeey,’ he said, breezily awake, as if it were 10 and not still barely dawn. ‘She’s gone, works at 7. Keycard code’ll get changed at noon. We gotta do this now. Where are you?’

You looked across at Sam and rolled your eyes and grinned.

‘Nowhere special. I’ll call you when we’re close. Say 8.’ You hung up before he could answer and threw the phone at Sam. ‘He got the card.’

Sam had put the gun down and was on his back, stretching, all lazy muscle and tousled bedhead, blinking the sleep from his eyes and licking his lips.

‘Why’d he wanna wait till 8?’

You crawled up over Sam and palmed his cock, half-hard from sleep and stiffening.

‘He didn’t,’ you said, ‘I did, you lovely idiot. C’m’ere.’


End file.
